Page 15 of Finding Love at Roseford Blooms
Unsure what else to say, she settled for, ‘I’ll see you around.’ And with that, she walked quickly over the grass and out of the Roseford Hall gates, determinedly keeping the hall itself out of her line of sight.
14
Lizzie hurried back up the main street. She’d come so close to levelling with Simon about the tangled mess that passed for her emotions, but something held her back. After all these years, it seemed pointless to go back over it. And it would only cause friction between Simon and Sarah, which, in spite of her feelings towards Sarah, was the last thing she wanted to do. She just had to let things go. Coming back to Roseford might not have been a great idea, especially in her current state, but there were plenty of positives about being here. Not least, spending some time with Bee.
With this in mind, she headed towards Roseford Blooms. Even if she couldn’t be of much practical help to her aunt, she might be able to do something in the shop. She’d always found Bee’s little store calming; being around flowers, their fresh, meadowy smell, seemed to do something to relax her. As a teenager, when Georgina had been out and about in Roseford, meeting friends and socialising, Lizzie had preferred to be at Roseford Blooms, watching Bee putting exquisite bouquets and arrangements together while she devoured one of the many novels she’d brought down with her to pass the hours. She hoped that a little time spent in the shop now might ease her thoughts.
Bee looked up from the bouquet she was arranging as Lizzie walked through the door. ‘Hello, love,’ she said. ‘Fresh air do you good?’
Lizzie smiled crookedly. ‘Sort of.’ She looked around at the shop, breathed deeply and felt the atmosphere washing over her. ‘Just thought I’d pop by and see if there was anything I could help with.’
‘I’ve just finished the last bouquet of the day – a chap’s coming along to pick it up in a little while – but you can check the buckets and see if anything needs getting rid of or freshening up if you like.’ Bee expertly wrapped a cone of light green paper around the bouquet, then taped it and secured it with a cream-coloured length of ribbon. She was so practised at it that she barely needed to look as she ran her scissors, flat side down, over the ends of the ribbon to curl them.
‘I love watching you do that.’ Lizzie sighed. Watching Bee was like seeing one of those videos on YouTube that showed processes like piping hot sticks of rock being formed, or toothpaste being squeezed out of tubes.
‘Years of repetition,’ Bee replied briskly, sweeping the discarded stems into the compost bin behind the counter.
Lizzie began checking the buckets. Even with one hand, she managed to pull out a few wilting stems. She ran her eyes over the different varieties on display: roses, freesias, sprigs of baby’s breath for contrast and texture, all releasing their scents like nature’s perfume counter. Pulling out a couple of blooms that were past their best, she transferred them to her other hand, and eventually had weeded out any that wouldn’t cut it in an arrangement.
‘Thanks, love,’ Bee said. ‘You always did look in your element with the flowers. Takes me back to when you were younger when you used to spend time in here.’
Lizzie smiled. ‘I liked it. I remember you taught me how to make a passable posy, too. Not that I was any good at it.’ She sighed. ‘I didn’t have the same knack you do.’
‘Handling flowers is like dealing with people,’ Bee said. ‘You take what you know, you observe and you listen, and then you add in what you feel.’
Lizzie laughed. ‘You make it sound so simple.’
Bee regarded her shrewdly. ‘I never said it was easy,’ she said. ‘But you learn to read flowers and people just as effectively, after a while.’
Lizzie glanced away from her aunt’s searching look. She tried to focus on the flowers, and felt that old familiar calm washing over her.
The shrill ring of the landline in the shop broke into her thoughts. Bee swiftly answered it, and took what sounded like a last-minute order. Replacing the receiver, she glanced back at Lizzie. ‘Do you feel up to lending a hand with a quick bouquet?’
Lizzie grinned and waved her good hand. ‘I’ve only really got the one at the moment, but you’re welcome to it.’
‘Right, OK, then.’ Bee looked thoughtful for a long moment. ‘We can start with a centrepiece of Lavender Lassie and a couple of Jeanne de Montfort, and then build up with some lavender and a couple of the Phoenix Rosa.’ She looked expectantly at Lizzie.
Lizzie burst out laughing. ‘Can you just run that by me again? And perhaps point to the ones you want? I’m not great on names.’
Bee smiled back. ‘That purple one there,’ she began. ‘And we’ll add two sprigs of the white delicate one, that’s the baby’s breath. And then three deep purple heads… that’s the ticket.’
Gradually, Lizzie collected the blooms from the buckets and carefully laid them down on Bee’s counter. ‘Here you go,’ she said.
Bee looked up at her. ‘Let’s see how much you can remember,’ she said softly.
Lizzie remembered the little lessons Bee had tried to teach her years ago. Remarks about colour and texture, as well as scent. As well as how, sometimes, when you knew the rules, you should feel free to bend them a little, in pursuit of something beautiful. For Bee, flowers were a lifelong passion, and it was in these moments that Lizzie could begin to understand that.
‘I haven’t done this for so long,’ Lizzie protested. ‘What if I get it wrong?’
‘You won’t,’ Bee replied, then, with a twinkle in her eye, ‘and if you do, I’m right here to tweak it.’
Lizzie took a deep breath and focused on the long, elegant stems in front of her. With only one working arm, she’d need Bee’s help anyway. She ran a fingertip over the soft, voluptuous petals of one of the roses, tracking down the outside and to the stem. She felt excited about creating something beautiful with the roses as the centrepiece.
‘I trimmed the stems this morning, so you should be all right to put them together, then we’ll tidy up any that need sorting out at the end.’
Lizzie nodded, lost in the richness of the colours of the flowers. Gradually, piece by piece, flower by flower, the idea she had for the small bouquet took shape, until she’d put them together in an arrangement that she hoped would work. The deep purple Lavender Lassies and crimson Phoenix Rosas were at the centre, then the Jeanne de Montforts, a wilder-looking hedgerow-type rose, formed a protective loop around them, finished with sprigs of lavender and baby’s breath. She took a step back after about ten minutes to see how it looked.
‘Very pretty,’ Bee said as she drew in to look at Lizzie’s attempt. ‘Although I think I’d have popped the de Montforts in a little tighter. Shall we try it?’
